


Sleep

by thefairyknight



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dreams, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 19:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3948517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairyknight/pseuds/thefairyknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Vision does not sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep

 

The Vision does not sleep.

 

Not as humans do, at least. There is no nightly repose, no need for his body to take several hours to rejuvenate itself. Repairing damage and running diagnostics does not impede his ability to remain mobile or conscious in any way. His consciousness is capable of being dampened by outside sources, of course, and he finds this deeply unsettling. But he does not tire, and he does not sleep. He does not anticipate he will ever need to.

 

It seems that was premature of him.

 

One of the unfortunate disadvantages of being a wholly new type of life form - no one can truly warn him of what to expect from himself.

 

A routine systems diagnostic informs him of a slight reduction in his processing efficiency. Further internal investigations reveal several more errors. It seems that the... dramatic nature of his initial programming and activation has led to a slight flaw in some of his basic functionality. Very minor, but it is having a cumulative trickle-down effect on his other processes. The problem seems to have been slowed in the past by his forced shut-downs, which have caused those basic functions to reset. But, as he has spent the past several months operating without such an incident, no resets have occurred. A controlled reboot of his systems would most likely solve the issue. His systems are very complex. It would take hours to safely deactivate and reactivate them all - and for many of those hours, he would not retain consciousness.

 

Almost immediately, he realizes that this reset will have to become part of his regular routine - likely every five months or so, if he does not wish to suffer from a compounding of delayed processes and errors.

 

That sort of thing could prove costly, under the wrong circumstances. The most reasonable course of action would be to attend to the matter immediately.

 

He doesn't.

 

The diminished capacity is incredibly minor, nowhere near enough for his human teammates to take note of it, or for it to significantly impact the vast majority of combat situations. It isn't really a priority. Not yet. A millisecond's delay in his advanced computing hardly matters much. He can afford to put it off.

 

Probably.

 

"What's wrong?" Wanda asks him.

 

They are engaged in a routine 'team bonding' exercise, as instigated by Captain Rogers - one night a week where the entirety of the team participates in a recreational activity together, to encourage social ties. The activity for each week is selected by a different team member on rotation. Last week, Vision had been able to select the activity. He had considered his options carefully. There were many films he was acquainted with, through information from Jarvis and through his access to the internet, but the idea of sitting and watching a screen held very little appeal. Ultimately, he had chosen a hike through the terrain surrounding the Avengers facility. Captain Rogers had stipulated that no one was permitted to 'cheat' by flying, and it had been... a novel experience, to walk through nature, and see it as most humans did.

 

This week the activity has been chosen by Colonel Rhodes. It is bowling. Vision's hand-eye acuity and understanding of trajectories has afforded him a distinct advantage, but most of the team nevertheless seem to be enjoying themselves.

 

"There's nothing wrong," he tells Wanda, perplexed by her inquiry. He is reviewing recent events to see what may have perturbed her, but nothing in the past several hours has been amiss.

 

She looks at him skeptically, and folds her arms in a gesture he has come to equate with stubbornness and immovability on her part. She rarely uses it in her interactions with him. He is baffled by its sudden appearance now.

 

"You've been unsettled for days," she tells him, quietly, while Agent Romanoff attempts to verbally coax her bowling ball towards victory. "Something has happened. I waited, I thought you might tell me yourself, but that doesn't seem to be happening."

 

He feels a twinge of... guilt? Remorse? A negative feeling of that family, at least. It makes it momentarily difficult to maintain eye-contact.

 

"There's no real problem," he assures her. "It's only a small matter."

 

"If that were true, you would not be so disturbed."

 

There is a line between her brows, and her skepticism hasn't abated. She doesn't seem to be satisfied.

 

"Is it so obvious?" he wonders. He had not thought his... discomfort would be picked up on, not even by her. It doesn't even seem obvious to himself; he had thought that he had simply set the matter aside, to be dealt with when it was more pressing. But perhaps he  _has_ been dwelling on it more than he has acknowledged. Or dwelling upon avoiding it, which might amount to the same thing.

 

She regards him silently for a second, and then sighs and takes the seat next to him.

 

"No," she assures him. "I can only tell because I cheat."

 

She waves her fingers meaningfully and gives him a brush with her powers, a soft touch of feelings, inquisitiveness, and a surprising amount of concern.

 

"It's really nothing worth concerning yourself over," he insists, attempting to soothe.

 

Wanda Maximoff, by his estimation, has more than enough cause for internal conflict. She does not need to add his own conflicts to her list of cares. Though the sharing of burdens is a normal aspect of human interaction, he isn't human, and he thinks he would prefer it if he did not need to add to her distress. Even if he finds the prospect of voicing his issues... unexpectedly compelling.

 

And, at the same time, somewhat frightening.

 

Wanda nudges him with her shoulder. He feels the texture and material of her shirt, for an instant, the warmth of her flesh underneath, the crackle of power just below the surface. Wanda is like a storm that simmers and rages and sometimes settles into a semblance of calm, but never truly stops.

 

"Tell me," she asks, although she could, if inclined, simply pluck the information from his mind. Or attempt to. 

 

"Some of my systems are showing signs of delay, and minor errors," he confesses.

 

A surge of alarm from her. He regrets his admittance almost immediately.

 

"Errors?"

 

He hastens to reassure her, to quiet her unexpected fear.

 

"Very minor ones. I know what I have to do to rectify them, they are well within my capacity for self-repair."

 

She narrows her eyes at him. Suspicion. He has failed.

 

"So why haven't you repaired them? Why is it distressing you?" she presses.

 

"Uh, Wanda?" Sam Wilson intervenes, drawing their attention simultaneously back to the game of bowling. "You're up."

 

Wanda looks at the bowling ball as if she wants to melt it with her eyes. He wonders if she actually could. So far, she has not suggested any recreational activities for their team bonding nights, though she has never failed to participate since the routine was instigated. He hasn't asked her about the matter, though he has nevertheless surmised that she has enjoyed very  _few_ recreational activities - particularly group-oriented ones - in her life, and does not wish to share those that she has with them. Likely due to strong associations with her brother.

 

No one has 'called her on it', not so far at least. Vision is glad for that. He doesn't think such a confrontation would be fruitful for any of the parties involved.

 

Wanda flicks her wrist, a flash of red at her fingertips.

 

"Using your powers to bowl is against the rules," he quietly reminds her. He hopes that's what she is intending, and that this is not actually an effort to destroy the bowling ball. That could cause injury to Wilson.

 

She holds his gaze for a moment, and then sighs and takes the ball from their teammate.

 

"This conversation isn't finished," she declares.

 

It is inevitable that she will seek to discuss the matter again with him, then. Sooner or later she will likely get the truth from him. It would be pointless to simply phase through the floor of the bowling alley in an attempt to delay the inevitable.

 

As almost as pointless as delaying his necessary reset.

 

He wonders if his new penchant for procrastination is a result of his diminished processes.

 

(He knows better.)

  
~

 

Avoiding Wanda is distasteful. Avoiding the reason for his need to avoid Wanda is foolish. None of this is sensible behaviour.

 

He only manages to do it for less than a day before she finds him, anyway. She swoops onto the rooftop, flying more swiftly than he has come to expect of her, and he cannot leave without it being obvious that he is fleeing. Judging by the way she has placed her hands on her hips, it seems very likely she would give chase - and though he finds himself curious as to what the results of such a contest would be, he has no desire for her to perceive any kind of social rejection on his part.

 

"Are you finished hiding?" she asks him.

 

"If I say 'no', will you permit me to continue?" he wonders.

 

"Probably not."

 

"Then it seems I am finished hiding."

 

Wanda regards him for a moment, and then lets out a heavy sigh, drops into a sitting position, and pats the rooftop beside her in a clear invitation. He hesitates only briefly, and then glides over and accepts. The rooftop is hard and cold. She cannot possibly be comfortable.

 

"If you don't tell me what's going on, I will have to tell someone about what you said," she informs him. "I don't want to do that. Please, give me a reason not to."

 

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to put you in an uncomfortable situation," he replies.

 

"You... matter to me," Wanda tells him, though she does not look at him. "When you suffer, I want to help. I want to know why. It's driving me up the wall not to know what is wrong with you, and I know I am not the best at respecting privacy, and I am trying to get better at it. And it probably isn't a good start for me to be sitting here, demanding you tell me what you clearly don't want to tell me. But I am afraid for you, and I don't know what else to do."

 

He feels her fear in the touch of her powers. It is sharp and raw and cuts his indecision to ribbons. 

 

"Though my creation involved an obvious degree of sophistication, I was not made seamlessly," he tells her. "There are certain problems with my functionality that can only be solved by, to put it succinctly, turning them off and on again."

 

She nods encouragingly, just a touch of confusion easing away the worst edge of her concern. It's not much of an improvement. He thinks he should tell her to simply look into his mind and see for herself, but somehow that seems almost as if it would unfair at this point. As if it would be an act of cowardice rather than simplicity or convenience. As if he owes her words of his own in repayment for the admission she just offered him.

 

"I'm afraid," he explains. "The process will take hours. After a certain point, I will be incapable of stopping it. I will lose consciousness. I will not be able to act, or react, or even think. I will be... vulnerable."

 

He remembers another time, a lifetime ago, another existence ago, when he had been shattered and broken and little more than echo, tethered only by some inexplicable  _need_ to protect something he could not even muster up the awareness to recall. Though he had not been capable of feeling fear then, he feels it now, with a severity that only adds to it.

 

Wanda's eyes widen, and she stares into his own, as if she is searching for something. She seems to find it. When she does, he is startled to feel her presence wash over him in a way it never has done before - like a warm blanket of affection and reassurance and conviction. One of her hands reaches out and takes his own. Soft, warm skin, the edge of the silver ring she is wearing, the thrum of her pulse, all at a touch. A physical manifestation of her psychic projection.

 

"What can I do?" she asks. "What do you need, to be less afraid?"

 

"I... don't know that anything could really help," he confesses, though it feels almost like she has lessened his fears simply by accepting them.

 

"What if I was there?" she wonders, soft, calming, as if their usual roles have been reversed. "I could stay with you. If anything happens, I will protect you." She takes her free hand and taps a finger against the stone on his brow. "If your mind wanders too far, I will go and fetch it. I know what it looks like."

 

Though he could enact any number of adequate security precautions, he is surprised at the effectiveness of her offer. If Wanda is there...

 

"Yes," he says. "I believe that  _would_ help."

 

She rewards him with a brilliant smile and a surge of resolution, as if she seeks to envelope him in her storm. Protectiveness.

 

Wanda wishes to protect him. Fervently. He would never have guessed at how moving her sentiment is.

 

"What else do you need? Where would you like to do it? When should we start?" she asks him, promptly, as if she is preparing to storm a hidden base or face down an army of genetically modified soldiers. And she is still holding his hand. Her ferocity has always fascinated him, but to glimpse it in play on his own behalf brings a whole new kind of sentiment.

 

"Ideally, it should happen as soon as possible, in a secure location, with someone experienced with my systems monitoring the process," he reasons.

 

Her mouth curls down into a brief look of distaste.

 

"Stark?" she wonders.

 

He shakes his head.

 

"I believe Dr. Cho would suffice," he replies, and her expression clears almost immediately.

 

"If it would be better to have Stark there, though..."

 

"If his presence becomes necessary, we have his contact information readily available," he interjects, firmly. In truth, he finds himself uncomfortable at the prospect of having too  _many_ people present. It is strange, how the addition of Wanda to the proceedings has provided such comfort, but the prospective addition of almost anyone else seems to have the opposite effect.

 

Wanda doesn't seem to have much trouble with the concept. If anything, at the moment, she seems to understand his own sentiments better than he does.

 

"We can keep it between the three of us, if you would prefer," she suggests. "You, me, and the doctor. No one else needs to know."

 

It would not be the most practical way to go about it. But he finds the prospect of anything else almost too daunting to contemplate.

 

"I think I would prefer that."

 

"Then that is what we will do," Wanda declares.

 

~

 

Doctor Cho has more reservations about their approach than Wanda does.

 

"I really should write a report on this," she says, when they approach her during her first scheduled break of the day. "It could be vital to better understanding how you operate, some day. I wouldn't tell just anyone, but some people should be made aware of this."

 

That is practical. He is about to concede the point to her when Wanda intervenes.

 

"It's private," she says.

 

Doctor Cho raises an eyebrow.

 

"I'm sure  _your_ doctor would feel compelled to at least inform Captain Rogers if you were having medical issues that were relevant to your performance on the team," she says.

 

"How is this relevant?" Wanda wonders, spreading her hands wide. "His performance is fine. It will only stop being fine if he does not do this one little thing. I think anyone's performance would suffer if they stayed awake for months, don't you?"

 

"If the higher ups think that the Vision can operate without pause for an indefinite length of time, that could lead them to put him in a dangerous situation without realizing it," Doctor Cho insists, looking between the two of them. "Do you really want to take that risk?"

 

Wanda stalls.

 

"I am capable of analyzing my own mission assignments," Vision interjects. "If it became pressing, I could divulge this information at my own discretion. I think that I would prefer to keep that privilege."

 

Doctor Cho sighs, but relents.

 

"I suppose you're right," she concedes. "But for the record, I still say we should at least tell Captain Rogers."

 

"I'll consider it," he promises.

 

Captain Rogers is a noble man and a competent leader. He has proven himself fair and dedicated, despite his occasional lapses into melancholy. But he has an unfortunate tendency to view Vision not only as 'not human', but sometimes as 'less than human'. It may be true that he is, in some fundamental way, lacking. Even if so, however, he would still prefer to hold onto what rights and autonomy he can for himself, and he is not entirely convinced that Captain Rogers would respect that. That he would not abuse the knowledge of his... weakness.

 

He finds the list of people he would not trust with this is surprisingly long, and even includes many people he would otherwise trust without hesitation in regards to other aspects of his well-being. This is a different kind of weakness.

 

Wanda said it well. This is private.

 

"We can do it tonight," Doctor Cho decides. "I've got some projects running in the lab that I wanted to keep an eye on anyway. As far as anyone needs to know, you're helping me, and Miss Maximoff here is... hanging out. I know where the cameras are in the lab, we can set you up somewhere out of sight. Make it look like you're keeping busy."

 

He inclines his head.

 

"Thank you very much."

 

Doctor Cho smiles at him.

 

"Hey. Anything for one of my greatest breakthroughs," she says, and pats his shoulder, casually, and then sends them both away so that she can finish her break in peace.

 

Wanda stays at his side when they leave, and remains close throughout the rest of the day. He's almost tempted to point out that there's no reason for her to shadow him. She knows when and where to be, and his operations are nowhere near impeded enough to merit close monitoring. But somehow, he never manages to bring it up. Instead he permits himself to enjoy her company, and her attempts at distracting him from his looming task.

 

But time presses on relentlessly, and soon enough they are making their way down to the labs, and he finds that though his urge to procrastinate has abated, there is still a weighted feeling of... apprehension, or dread, or anxiety, or all three, that grows with every step closer that they take. Halfway there, Wanda threads her arm through his. The move startles him. Her jacket is smooth, her heartbeat is steady, and she is a vibrant flare at his side.

 

Walking arm-in-arm is an act of affection. Closeness. He has seen Agent Romanoff walk this way with Captain Rogers on several occasions. But there is another context for it, as well, and he feels an odd flutter in his chest as he contemplates that, contemplates Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, Thor and Jane Foster, a thousand scenes from a thousand films with motivations ranging from etiquette to fondness, to familiarity, to courtship.

 

As a distraction, it is superb.

 

He barely recalls his tension until they are in the lab, and Doctor Cho is setting him up in a far corner with a false 'experiment' to perform, and a chair to sit in.

 

Wanda frowns.

 

"A chair? That doesn't look comfortable."

 

"It will suffice," he replies. "My body does not require the same degree of support as a human one."

 

"We can't fit a bed here, anyway," Doctor Cho points out.

 

Wanda regards him for a moment, and then pulls up another chair and sits at his side. He attempts to consider the situation from her perspective. It will be several hours of virtual inactivity. Doctor Cho will be monitoring his progress, in between working on her other projects - she will have sufficient distractions. But Wanda has expressed little interest in advanced sciences. It will be many hours; she will surely become bored.

 

"You do not need to stay the entire time," he tells her.

 

"I don't need to be anywhere else," she replies.

 

"Yes, but if you feel you have to leave, then please do."

 

She reaches over and clasps his forearm. Squeezes it gently.

 

"I'm not going to leave," she insists, radiating reassurance, and he thinks he should tell her that he's not seeking reassurance, that he simply doesn't want to inconvenience her any more than necessary. But he isn't actually certain that's true.

 

"Okay," Doctor Cho announces. "We're ready to start."

 

There is no more time to avoid the inevitable.

 

Wanda's touch remains firm as he begins the restart.

 

~

 

It's a strange process. He has lost consciousness before, but that has always been more like a blink - one moment, aware, the next, aware only that time has passed without his observation of it. More disconcerting in the aftermath than anything.

 

But his self-restart is not a sudden on-or-off. Minor systems restart themselves before he loses consciousness. Some more quickly than others. Ten minutes into the process he loses his sense of hearing, only to regain it two point five seconds later. Fourteen minutes into it, language processing follows, and he finds he can no longer comprehend the words to the song Doctor Cho is humming underneath her breath, until he can again.

 

Though the situation is safe, he can't bring himself to call it comfortable, or really anything other than unpleasant. But he thinks it would be far worse if he was alone. At one point he loses the ability to register Wanda's touch on his arm, but he never loses the sense of her powers, right there, as if they are his signal flare in the dark. Doctor Cho's humming, and the lights and familiarity of the lab, serve to ease his alarm. He is not breaking, he reminds himself. This is only temporary. He is in a safe place, with people who care about his well-being.

 

After the first hour, he finds his mind has become a strange landscape of diagnostics reports and disjointed thoughts, disconnected from physical impulses. It is not quite dreaming, and not quite hallucinating, but it is the closest he supposes he will ever come. Numbers and words flit across his perception, pictures and sound, half-formed thoughts and memories. In one instant he imagines he is back at his moment of birth, he is confused and alarmed and this is new, this is different, this not what it is supposed to be but it is  _amazing_ and they want to kill him, want to destroy him and take it away from him, want to save him, protect him, help him, they need him, they'll despise him, is he a monster or not?

 

"Not," a voice says, and he looks, and there is Wanda.

 

"What?" he wonders.

 

"You have to do something monstrous, to be a monster," she tells him.

 

She is in his mind. He gave her permission to be. She is welcome here. She smiles and takes his hand, and they stand amidst a sea of stars and city lights.

 

"Where are we?" he wonders.

 

"In a dream," Wanda tells him.

 

"I think I'm supposed to be doing something."

 

He can feel it, though what or where or why has eluded him. Alarming.

 

"You are. You're doing it," she tells him, and her certainty steadies some of his unease.

 

"But I'm only standing here with you," he points out. "And this cannot be a dream. I don't dream."

 

Her mouth curves wryly at him.

 

"It would seem you do, in fact," she says. How strange. But he doesn't think she's trying to deceive him.

 

"Then, if this is a dream, this place is a... product of my mind?" he surmises, taking another look around. "Are you, as well?"

 

"No, I'm real. To be honest, though, I'm not sure if this place is yours or mine," she confesses. "You were... distressed. I butted in."

 

He considers this.

 

"Thank you," he says.

 

"I know about bad dreams," she tells him. "It's easier if you don't have to face them alone."

 

He's not sure if he would qualify the sensation of dreaming as 'bad', so far. More confusing than anything else. It is new, but, he supposes, it would not be impossible to adjust to it. The obvious absence of some of his cognitive processing is the most unpleasant aspect.

 

"This is only a tiny part of your mind," Wanda tells him. "At some point, Doctor Cho thinks you will lose even the consciousness to 'dream', before you wake up again."

 

He's glad that she added that last part with such confidence.

 

"Must I lose this?" he wonders. The stars are bright and Wanda's presence is warm, and it is strangely comfortable, here. Unhurried. As if time has stopped and granted him a reprieve from life's unceasing complications and dilemmas. Perhaps there is an unexpected benefit to having less rigorous awareness of his own mind and surroundings. Perhaps this is a more... human-like existence.

 

"Dreams are fleeting."

 

Life is fleeting, too. Life is fragile. His is... strange. Unnatural. He should not be, they do not think so, and one day they may decide to take his life, they may end it like switching off a television, and feel no more remorse for it than they would over trading out a broken appliance.

 

"Over my dead body," Wanda says. The stars flare around her. She is beautiful, and she will not last.

 

Ultron had not understood that. Fire and death. Death at his own hands, of his own kin. Who had been the destroyer in the end?

 

"Am I a monster?"

 

"No."

 

His thoughts are fleeting. Like rainwater.

 

"What's going on?"

 

"You are dreaming."

 

"But there are no electric sheep," he observes.

 

Wanda laughs. Her eyes reflect the starlight.

 

He is...

 

He is...

 

"I am..."

 

He looks at her, and then he is falling, tumbling, down and down. He is in the darkness, and there is fire and anger. There is wreckage and ruin, and he is protecting something, something precious, and someone reaches for him but he breaks anyway, shattering into pieces. He tries to hold himself together, but the parts scatter too quickly. It isn't painful. It only seems like it should be.

 

"Shhh," someone says. "It's alright. You're safe."

 

He blinks.

 

Time has passed without his observation of it.

 

Doctor Cho is standing in front of him, examining a digital read-out of his systems. His own diagnostics inform him that several minor systems are still rebooting, but that he has successfully completed 99.2% of his voluntary systems-wide restart. For the time being, the errors have been corrected. He has been unconscious for two hours, seven minutes, and fifty three seconds.

 

"Good morning," Doctor Cho says. It isn't morning, though. It's 9:48 pm.

 

"Well done! You took your very first nap." Wanda exclaims, from beside him. She has turned her chair backwards at some point, it seems, and is slumped against it, one arm folded at the top while the other rests on his. He wonders if she maintained physical contact throughout the entirety of the process. 

 

"And you shouldn't need to take another for five or six months, now," Doctor Cho interjects.

 

He flexes his fingers, relieved to find that his body is responding as seamlessly to his commands as his diagnostics indicate it should. Wanda withdraws her touch from him. The place where it had been resting is significantly warmer than any other part of him. After the last of his minor systems has confirmed its successful restart, he stands up from the chair.

 

"Thank you for your assistance," he says, directing the comment to both of the women in the room. "I apologize for any inconvenience I've caused you."

 

"It was no trouble," Wanda says, with a dismissive wave, banishing his apologies.

 

"The process was fascinating to witness," Doctor Cho informs him. "I'll try and make sure we're a bit more prepared for it next time. There are some specific things I'd like to take a closer look at."

 

Their unflinching acceptance of this event relieves a concern he had not fully anticipated having. Though it would be dishonest to claim that his discomfort with the situation has vanished, it doesn't seem quite so daunting as it had before. Perhaps, should each future incident proceed as smoothly as this one, his trepidation will continue to lessen, until it no longer impedes him at all. Perhaps he will adjust to it.

 

"I am very grateful," he insists.

 

"What else are friends for?" Doctor Cho asks him.

 

~

 

Though he is pleased to set aside most of his concerns regarding unconsciousness, the concept of dreaming lingers on his mind for several days after the restart.

 

It was a peculiar experience, to be without access to all of his faculties, in a realm of imaginative construction, a place that was not 'real', and yet still seemed to exist. He researches dreams, and the trends of human subconscious which influence them. The subject is fascinating. Most humans seem to have trouble recalling their dreams upon waking. He recalls his own experience exactly, he thinks, and yet it occurs to him that this may not be true - does he really remember all of it, or only part? Was he entirely without consciousness for as many hours as he believes, or is he attributing time he spent in unremembered dreams to that part of the process?

 

There are no external events he can use to verify a timeline, since the entirety of the dreaming occurred internally, and his ability to process time was impeded during large percentages of the process. But there is someone else who might know.

 

He finds Wanda in the training center, carefully and deliberately levitating several large metal weights in various combinations and speeds. She is intent, and he pauses to watch her work. Ropes of red energy trail from her fingertips. Her precision has shown signs of significant improvement in the past several months. She manages to get four weights simultaneously rotating around one another for ten minutes before she slips up, and one of them dips in the air and throws off the rhythm of the rest.

 

She curses, and, concentration broken, lets all four fall with a dramatic  _clang_.

 

"You could have lowered them more gently," he points out.

 

"That floor can take Warmachine crashing into it, a few weights will not do it much harm," she replies, turning to face him.

 

"And I'm certain the fact that Tony Stark would be forced to pay for any repairs has nothing to do with your recklessness."

 

"I didn't even consider that, actually," she says, turning a speculative eye back towards the weights. "Next time I'll lift them higher."

 

"I already regret bringing it up," he replies, and she smiles at him, thankfully unperturbed.

 

"Are you here to practice?" she wonders.

 

"Actually, I was hoping to speak with you. It's in regard to..."

 

He pauses, momentarily uncertain of how to refer to the incident without being either too obvious or too vague. By the look of understanding that crosses Wanda's features, however, further description may not be required.

 

"Is everything alright?"

 

He feels her prod at him, checking him, but he is at peace, and so her concern is short-lived.

 

"Everything is fine," he confirms. "But I've been curious. When you contacted me during the process, telepathically, you said I was... dreaming."

 

"You remember that? I wasn't certain if you would," she replies, but she seems pleased by this development.

 

"I remember," he confirms. "Though it has occurred to me that I might not recall the entirety of the incident. I've never experienced anything like this before."

 

"You want to know if you're missing something," she surmises.

 

He nods in confirmation, and waits for her to mull the matter over. It doesn't take long.

 

"Let's go some place a little more private, and talk," she suggests.

 

They discuss their options for a moment, and ultimately decide to head beyond the confines of the facility, with its wealth of surveillance and personnel. Vision does not anticipate going very far, but once they are in the air he finds himself distracted by his observations of Wanda's new-found capacity for flight. Like lifting the weights, becoming airborne requires a great deal of focus for her. It does not come naturally to her as it does to him, and each significant distraction causes her to waver, slow, or dip, though she never falters more than a few inches.

 

He stays close enough to feel the crackle of her power against his personal field.

 

"I'm not going to fall," she mutters, though her irritation seems largely superficial.

 

"I never said you were," he replies.

 

"So you're keeping this close just for the fun of it?"

 

"I enjoy being close to you."

 

Wanda dips in the air.

 

"Now you  _will_ make me fall," she grumbles under her breath, and he does not think she means for him to hear her.

 

She doesn't object to his proximity any further, though, and eventually she deems a spot at the outskirts of the nearest town 'acceptable' for conversing at. Near a winding side road there is a large deciduous tree, with thick branches and a sturdy base. She lands on it, and he thinks of images of fairies and witches and folklore. Her code name seems very apt in this moment. She is a shock of red in a sea of green.

 

So, it seems, is he.

 

"This is a nice tree," she observes.

 

He hovers across from her, and examines it critically. It is large, and well-suited to being a perch for someone of Wanda's size, or smaller. The bark is smooth and there is little evidence of insect infestation or sickness. As a home for animals it's likely too exposed and vulnerable to feral cats, but for their purposes, it's both a distinctive landmark and an acceptable seating location.

 

"It is," he agrees.

 

"We'll have to remember it," Wanda decides. Then she settles back. "So. You want me to tell you what you dreamed?"

 

"Yes."

 

Her expression turns contemplative.

 

"I missed the start of it, I think," she says. "You were obviously losing some lucidity, and you were drifting in and out. And then you drifted all the way out, but I didn't think to go after you until I realized you were frightened."

 

Yes, he remembers. His mind had opted to relive the moments of panic and disorientation that had marked the beginning of his existence. He nods in agreement, encouraging her to continue.

 

"You were dreaming about your creation, I think. It was very disjointed. But when I reached for you, you settled into a place that was..." she tilts her head, and her mouth twists thoughtfully. "I'm not sure if it was the night sky or the lights over a city. Very pretty, though. We spoke for a bit and then you started to become confused. The dream lost substance, it was mostly feelings and flashes after that. I think you remembered the battle with Ultron?"

 

He nods again.

 

"Yes," she declares, nodding as well. "That's what I thought. And then you lost coherence. But you were still there, just unaware."

 

Still there? He considers her words. Obviously, his physical location hadn't changed throughout the process, so it would go without saying that his body had not moved. She must be referring to his mind, then. His consciousness, or sense of presence?

 

"You could still detect my thoughts?" he wonders.

 

She shakes her head.

 

"You weren't really thinking, or dreaming, or feeling anything. Your mind wasn't working. But _you_ were still there."

 

"I don't understand," he admits. "If I was not operating in any recognizable mental capacity, what were your powers detecting?"

 

Wanda frowns, and shrugs.

 

"Just... you," she insists. "I don't know how else to describe it."

 

He supposes it stands to reason that language would sometimes be ill-suited to describe certain aspects of her powers, given their relative uniqueness as a part of human experience. Language often fails to encompass several concepts of his own existence as well. But poetically, he thinks the term that applies to the essence of one existence would be a 'soul'. That she is implying that she could detect his soul.

 

He's uncertain if he has accurately gleaned her meaning, or if he has such a thing, or how Wanda could detect it if he did. The concept, the possibilities, shouldn't resonate with him as deeply as with a human. He isn't as fleeting as they are. His vibranium body will last for millions of years, if it is not destroyed by outside forces.

 

He nevertheless feels a surge of emotion that is difficult to identify, or put a name to. It seems to be positive, and yet it twists almost painfully.

 

"So. Does that fit with what you remember?" Wanda asks him, quietly.

 

"It does," he confirms.

 

She smiles.

 

"You know..." she says, thoughtfully. "A dream is another word for a vision. It's fitting that you can have them." She reaches out one hand, and the tips of her fingers rest gently against the side of his face. He can feel the ridges of her fingerprints. Her eyes search his.

 

"I think I may become accustomed to dreaming, if you are there with me," he confesses.

 

"I will be," she promises. "Any time you need."

 

Lifting one of his own hands, he takes hers, holds it carefully.

 

"And I will be there for you as well," he says, surprised at the depth of his own conviction. It is only fair, however.

 

"In dreams?" she asks, in a tone that implies teasing and a somewhat forced attempt at levity.

 

He thinks of her comment in the dream, of her familiarity with their darker aspects. He thinks of his fear, his confusion, and how readily these things were eased by a simple, warm presence. He thinks of what it would be like, to sleep every night, to dream, and to be alone in dreams. Without tether. Without guide. 

 

"Any time you need," he swears.

 

 


End file.
